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Souvenir 

of  the 
City  of  Atlanta 

and  of 
Uncle  Remus 

and  the 
U  Yen's  Nest 


Copyright   1913 

UNCLE  REMUS  MEMORIAL 
ASSOCIATION 


Appeal  Publishing  Company 
Atlanta,  Ga. 


Sold  for  the  Benefit 

of  the  ,'J,   ;  ;  /; 
Joel  Chandler  Harris 


V      . 


Uncle 


J 


./or/    ('Iniinflff     llnn-ix 

At    tin    Am    "i  Si.rf,  >  ii. 


OEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS  was 
born  December  9,  18i8,  in  the 
quirt  lit.lr  village  of  Katonton,  Putnam 
County.  Ga.  His  father  died  in  his  in- 
fancy. His  mother  was  young  and  very 
poor.  She  did  the  best  she  could  for 
her  little  boy.  raising  him  carefully,  and 
sending  him  to  the  Katonton  day  school. 
That  was  before  the  public  school  era, 
and  schools  were  pay  institutions. 

Joe  was  a  red-haired,  freckle-faced 
little  boy.  sturdy,  active,  fond  of  play, 
but  marked  by  that  shyness  and  reserve 
which  he  carried  through  life.  "He 
was  probably  the  least  noticed  boy  in 
the  neighborhood/1  relates  a  friend  who 
knew.  "He  was  such  a  clever  little  fel- 
low !"  reports  another  who  chose  him  for 
playmate.  He  developed  early  liking 

for  literature,  listening  intently  to  the  "Vicar  of  Wakerield,"  which 
liis  mother  read  to  him  when  he  was  six.  That  book  inspired  him 
with  a  desire  to  write. 

He  was  fond  of  animals.  "His  mother  told  me."  relates  his 
wife,  "how  he  befriended  stray  cats  and  dogs.  He  kept  that  up. 
I  have  been  often  perplexed  to  know  what  to  do  with  our  excess  of 
kittens.  lit  was  always  finding  another  puppy  and  bringing  it 
home.  Our  children  were  allowed  to  keep  any  pets  they  pleased. 
They  had  a  pony,  donkey,  chickens,  pigeons,  rabbits,  cows,  calves — 
almost  everything!  His  mother  said  Joel  always  had  a  wonderful 
way  with  horses.  Old  Uncle  Bob  Capers,  the  negro  stage-coach 
driver  at  Eatonton.  used  to  let  Joel  sit  on  the  box  with  him.  Once, 
she  saw  Joel  sitting  alone  on  top  the  stage,  driving  the  horses  him- 
self— such  a  little  fellow!  and  she  was  nearly  frightened  to  death!" 
The  Civil  War  came,  making  times  harder  for  every  one  and  no 
easier  for  this  struggling  mother  and  her  child.  Of  the  period 
when  he  became  fourteen,  he  once  gave  this  account  in  casual  talk: 
"There  came  a  time  when  I  had  to  be  up  and  doing.  I  was  in 
the  postoffice,  reading  the  newspapers  when  the  first  number  of  the 
Countryman  was  laid  on  the  counter.  I  saw  in  it  this  advertise- 


284485 


merit:     'An  active,,  intelligent  boy,,  11  or  15  years  of  age,  is  wanted 
at  this  office  to  learn  the  printing  business.     March  1th,  1862.' 

"This  was  my  opportunity  and  I  seixed  it  with  both  hands.  I 
wrote  to  the  editor,,  whom  I  knew,  and  the  next  time  he  came  to 
town,  he  sought  me  out,  asked  if  I  had  written  the  letter  with  my 
own  hands,  and  in  three  words,  the  bargain  was  concluded. 

"The  Countryman  was  published  nine  miles  from  any  post  office, 
on  the  plantation  of  Mr.  Joseph  A.  Turner.  On  the  roof  of  the 
printing  office,  squirrels  scampered  and  blue  jays  chattered.  I  used 
to  sit  in  the  dusk  and  see  the  shadows  of  all  the  great  problems  of 
life  flitting  about,  restless  and  uneasy,  and  I  had  time  to  think  about 
them.  What  some  people  call  loneliness  was  to  me  a  great  bless- 
ing; and  the  printer's  trade,  so  far  as  I  learned  it,  was  in  the  nature 
of  a  liberal  education.  Mr.  Turner  had  a  large  private  library, 
especially  rich  in  English  literature,  in  translations  from  the  Greek 
and  Latin,  and  works  on  ornithology.  It  would  have  been  remark- 
able if,  with  nothing  to  do  but  set  a  column  or  so  of  type  daily, 
I  had  failed  to  take  advantage  of  this  library.  Mr.  Turner  took 
an  abiding  interest  in  my  welfare,  directed  my  reading,  gave  me^ 
good  advice,  and  the  benefit  of  his  wisdom  and  experience  at  every 
turn.  For  the  rest,  I  got  along  as  any  boy  would.  I  was  fond  of 
setting  type,  and  when  my  task  was  done  I  used  to  go  to  the  negro 
cabins  and  hear  their  songs  and  stories." 

One  of  these  cabins  was  that  of  "Old  Uncle  George  Terrell," 
who  made  ginger-cakes  and  persimmon  beer,  and  told  quaint 
stories  to  little  Joe  and  the  Turner  children  clustered  around  his 
cabin  fire.  "Uncle  Remus"  of  Mr.  Harris's  books  and  world- 
wide fame  is  a  composite  of  "Uncle  George  Terrell,"  "Uncle  Bob 
Capers,"  and  other  kindly  black  "uncles." 

If  the  master  of  Turnwold  had  a  wonderful  library  and  the  little 
boy  was  welcome  there,  the  mistress  had  a  wonderful  garden  where 
he  was  welcome,  too.  In  it  was  a  plot  where  only  wild  flowers 
grew,  and  Mrs.  Turner  knew  as  much  about  wild  flowers  as  her 
husband  knew  about  birds.  The  Countryman  was  a  scholarly  little 
sheet,  resembling  Addison's  "Spectator,"  Goldsmith's  "Bee,"  and 
Johnson's  "Rambler."  Mr.  Turner  welcomed  contributions  in 
prose  and  verse  from  his  young  printer,  and  predicted  a  bright 
future  for  him.  At  the  close  of  the  war  the  paper 
ceased  publication. 

Harris,  adrift  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  found  work 
successively  at  Macon,  Ga.,  as  typesetter  and  writer 
on  the  Telegraph;  New  Orleans,  La.,  as  editor's  as- 
sistant on  the  Crescent;  Forsyth,  Ga.,  as  typesetter, 
writer,  editor,  and  wrapper-up  and  mailer  of  the 
Advertiser,  owned  bv  Mr.  James  Harrison;  at  Savan- 


nali,  associate  editor  on  the  News  with  \V.  T.  Thompson,  author  of 
"Major  Jones's  Courtship."  At  Forsyth  he  was  a  member  of  the 
Harrison  home  circle;  Mrs.  Starke,  Mr.  Harrison's  sister,  exhibited  a 
kindly  interest  in  him.  He  left  Savannah  for  Atlanta  in  1876 
with  his  wife  and 
two  children. 

He  had  married 
Essie  LaRose.  a 
young  lady  of  French 
ancestry  and  Cana- 
dian birth,  a  sea- 
captain's  daughter,  in 
Savannah,  April  21. 
1873.  Of  her  sur- 
name he  was  fond  of 
saying:  "  Twas  a 
pity  to  change  it — 
but  1  just  had  to!" 
and  j)  roving  bv 
Shakespeare  that  a 
rose  by  .-mother  name 
were  just  as  sweet! 
It  is  said  of  him  that 
he  never  liked  to  be 
out  of  sound  of  his 
wife's  voice.  Her 
congenial  and  sym- 
pathetic- companion- 
ship and  his  ap- 
preciation of  it  con- 
tributed much  to  his 

success.  "Kvcning  Tales."  a  translation  of  Ortoli's  folklore  tales, 
was  their  joint  production,  her  familiarity  with  French  assisting 
him  greatly. 

In  Atlanta,  as  an  editor  of  the  Constitution,  he  was  a  member 
of  that  charmed  circle  which  included  Evan  P.  Howell,  N.  P.  T. 
Finch.  Henry  W.  Grady,  Wallace  P.  Reed,  Sam  Small  and  Frank 
L.  Stanton.  An  interruption  came  to  Small's  "Old  Si"  stories, 
which  were  making  a  hit.  Howell  said:  "Joe,  why  don't  you 
try  your  hand  at  this  sort  of  thing?"  and  the  Constitution  printed 
the  first  of  the  "Uncle  Remus"  tales.  Their  popularity  was  in- 
stant. Northern  publishers  began  to  call  for  Mr.  Harris's  sto- 
ries— greatly  to  his  surprise.  He  always  seemed  inclined  to  take 
his  fame  as  a  joke — a  sort  of  humorous  accident.  He  was  very 
seriously  industrious,  however.  His  wife  thinks  "Free  Joe"  was 
his  favorite  among  his  stories. 


The  popularity  of  his  dialect  work  has  obscured  /" 
his  value  as  novelist,  historian,  poet,  and  essayist. 
Many  of  his  unsigned  editorials  and  articles  might 
be  identified  by  the  quaint,  sweet  humor  of  his  style, 
were  there  no  other  way.  As  this  in  "Just  Rain 
Enough":  "People  say  that  there  has  been  too  much 
rain.  But  has  the  grass  complained?  Have  the 
morning-glories  entered  protest?"  And  this,  in 
"Midsummer  Madness,"  on  the  weather:  "The  motto 
for  summer  is:  Keep  cool  and  don't  fret;  we  may  be  happy  yet." 

Mr.  Harris's  home,  paid  for  with  his  pen,  was  the  first  fruits 
of  his  literary  success,  the  Constitution  enabling  him  to  take  earlier 
possession  by  arranging  easy  terms  of  payment  for  him. 
His  daughters,  Lillian  and  Mildred  (Mrs.  Fritz  Wagener  and 
Mrs.  Edwin  Camp),  and  Joel  Chandler,  Jr.,  were  born  here.  He 
brought  three  little  sons  with  him — Julian,  Lucien,  and  Evelyn. 
He  lost  three  children.  Of  his  home  Rev.  Dr.  Lee,  his  friend  for 
years,  has  said:  "You  could  never  enter  his  door  without  a  sense  . 
of  a  subtle,  genial  presence  resting  on  everything  about  the  house. 
Every  child  he  had  did  seemingly  as  he  pleased,  but  grew  up  to 
express  in  orderly  conduct  and  attention  to  duty  the  sweet  music 
of  his  father's  house." 

It  must  have  been  a  proud  day  for  him,  whose  early  life  had 
been  such  a  struggle  with  untoward  conditions,  when  he  here  in- 
stalled his  wife,  his  mother,  and  his  family  of  young  children.  It 
was  never  a  pretentious  dwelling,  but  always  roomy,  sunshiny  and 
comfortable ;  it  wore  the  air  of  being  the  abode  of  a  man  who  loved 
home,  wife,  mother,  and  children;  who  loved  trees,  flowers,  and 
birds;  and  who  was  a  good  neighbor.  The  children  of  the  vicinity 
knew  the  taste  of  the  apples  that  fell  from  the  old  apple  trees  in 
his  garden,  and  of  the  persimmons  that  were  to  be  found  among  the 
rustling  leaves  inside  of  his  fence  when  autumn  winds  shook  them 
from  their  boughs;  and  everybody  knew  the  color  and  smell  of  his 
flowers.  Neighbors  received  "messes"  of  vegetables  from  "Snap 
Bean  Farm,"'  as  he  humorously  called  the  lot  overlooked  by  his 
veranda,  where  honeysuckle  vines  and  other  things  besides  edibles 
grew  and  domestic  animals  found  pasturage.  In  his  magazine  he 
wrote  as  "The  Farmer  of  Snap  Bean  Farm"  and  "Mr.  Billy  San- 
ders of  Shady  Dale." 

The  Sign  of  the  Wren's  Nest,  gradually  abbreviated  to  its  pres- 
ent name,  acquired  this  title*  years  ago,  when  a  pair  of  wrens  built 
a  nest  in  the  mail  box  at  the  gate,  and  Mr.  Harris  protected  them  in 
their  occupation,  saying  to  human  protest:  "Make  other  arrange- 
ments for  mail.  We  must  not  break  up  a  home."  When  Mr.  Harris 
built  his  house  here,  this  part  of  Atlanta  was  in  the  woods.  Of  a  sap- 


ling  beside  his  door,  he  said  to  his  wife  when  he  forbade  its  be- 
ing cut  down:  "This  tree  shall  be  my  monument."  That  sapling, 
now  a  lordly  tree,  shades  the  entrance. 

I  recall  my  first  visit  to  this  home.  The  happy  wife  and  chil- 
dren, the  venerable  mother,  and  even  the  household  pets  reflected  in 
their  air  of  peace  and  content,  the  spirit  of  the  master.  In  the  hall, 
an  unobtrusive  stair  ran  up.  "Where  to?"  I  asked.  "Mr.  Harris's 
study  among  the  treetops — at  least,  he  built  it  for  that,"  his  wife 
said.  "But  he  doesn't  do  much  writing  up  there!"  interpolated  his 
son,  Julian,  then  a  lad,  with  twinkling  eyes.  "He  can't  stay  away 
from  us!"  "But  doesn't  your  laughter  and  talking  disturb  him?" 
"He  likes  it!  He  writes  most  of  his  stories  with  us  around  him.  He 
reads  them  to  us  and  asks  what  we  think  of  them." 

The  engaging  manner  in  which  Julian  "gave  away"  his  sire  in 
small  bits  of  information  was  delicious  exposure  of  Mr.  Harris's 
comradeship  with  his  children.  "Come!"  said  he,  with  the  genuine 
Harris  friendliness,  "and  I  will  show  you  the  Mockingbird  Tree." 
And  he  pointed  out  the  lofty  poplar  where  warbled  the  songster  that 
inspired  Mr.  Harris's  prose  idyl.  That  yard  and  garden,  and  the 
trees  and  vines  !  One 
could  easily  imagine 
Uncle  Remus  here. 
and  Brer  Rabbit 
hopping  confidential- 
ly from  leafy  covert 
to  hold  confab  with 
him  —  and  hopping 
back  hastily  if  a 
stranger  hove  in 
sight. 

Whimsically  wise 
was  Uncle  Remus 
about  his  wild  things. 
One  day,  when  in 
the  ('  o  n  s  t  i  t  ution 
building,  I  wanted 
to  pee})  in  on  Uncle 
Remus.  But  on  what 
errand  of  impor- 
tance? I  crept  into 
his  den,  where  he  sat 
busy  at  his  desk. 
papers  all  around. 
"Uncle  Remus,"  I 
said,  "I  want  to  ask 
you  something  about  Printing  Office  at  Turn-wold,  Where  Mr. 

Harris  Learned  to  Set  Type. 


Brer  Rabbit."  I  had  his  ear — and  his  twinkling 
eyes.  "Mr.  Harris,  you  know  rabbits  can't  climb. 
Now,  you  say,  in  your  story,  Brer  Rabbit  'clomb  a 
tree.'  How  could  he?"  "He  was  bleedzed  to!" 
chuckled  Uncle  Remus.  By  like  unanswerable  reply, 
he  is  said  to  have  stopped  the  mouth  of  grave  natural- 
ists calling  on  him  for  explanation  of  the  prowess 
of  his  wild  creatures,  and  to  have  demolished  Presi- 
dent Roosevelt  in  "nature  study"  controversy  at  the 
White  House.  "The  Blue  Jay,"  "The  Mockingbird,"  "The  Self- 
Educated  Dog,"  and  other  essays  of  their  class  reveal  him,  however, 
as  a  serious  and  accurate  observer  of  animal  life.  "The  scientists 
are  a  very  unhappy  lot;  they  deny  everything,  they  doubt  every- 
thing," he  remarked  during  the  "nature  study"  controversy.  "A 
creature  hunted  and  a  creature  at  play  are  not  the  same,  though 
each  may  be  identical  with  the  other.  A  hunter  must  have  blood, 
and  a  naturalist  must  have  specimens,  whereas  an  observer  needs 
only  his  patience  and  sharp  eyes." 

"How's  ole  Sis  Cow?"  was  Andrew  Carnegie's  greeting  to  him  as 
they  met  in  the  middle  of  his  walk.  "Poly,"  chuckled  Uncle  Remus. 
"Sis  Cow"  had  put  them  on  easy  terms  at  once,  and  they  sat  down 
on  a  bench  under  the  Mockingbird  Tree  and  "had  a  mighty  good 
time,"  joking  and  chuckling,  the  one  in  Negro  dialect,  the  other 
in  broad  Scotch  brogue.  "Andrew  Carnegie  is  just  a  plain  ordi- 
nary fellow,  and  mighty  good  company,  too,"  Uncle  Remus  is 
said  to  have  reported  of  his  guest,  and  the  millionaire  ironmaster 
reported  of  him,  "He  has  given  a  helping  hand  to  all  the  world. 
He's  won  the  hearts  of  all  the  children,  and  that's  glory  enough  for 
any  man." 

His  friendships  were  deep  and  lasting.  He  never  forgot  the 
Turners  and  others  who  were  kind  to  him  in  his  early  years.  After 
Evan  Howell's  death,  when  inviting  Clark  Howell,  then  candi- 
date for  Governor  of  Georgia,  to  hold  a  campaign  rally  on  the 
lawn  at  the  Wren's  Nest,  he  wrote:  "I  have  lived  here  thirty  years 
in  concealment,  and  if  I  do  not  make  myself  conspicuous  at  this 
meeting  of  your  friends,  it  will  be  because  I  have  never  made  myself 
conspicuous  anywhere.  You  never  really  knew  the  relations  existing 
between  your  father  and  myself.  They  were  something  finer  than  the 
things  poets  write  about.  We  were  together  for  nearly  thirty  years 
and  there  was  never  a  ripple  in  the  strong  stream  of  our  confidence 
and  faith  in  each  other." 

The  Wren's  Nest  is  truly  classic  ground.  James  Whitcomb  Ri- 
ley  was  its  guest  for  weeks.  Joaquin  Miller,  Dr.  Lyman  Abbott, 
members  of  the  Gilder  family,  Walter  H.  Page,  A.  B.  Frost,  Rich- 
ard Malcolm  Johnston  and  many  other  famous  folks  of  our  own 
land  and  some  from  over  seas  have  visited  it.  The  master  received 


10 


Turn  wold 


with  the  grace  of  the  warm  heart  all  who  came  in  simplicity.,  seeking 
him  simply.,  be  the  visitor  great  or  lowly.  When  sought  as  a  ce- 
lebrity, he  hardly  knew  how  to  meet  the  situation,  and  escaped  if 
he  could. 

It  was  impossible  to  lionize  him.  Once,  when  he  and  Henry 
Grady  were  in  New  York,,  Grady  engaged  to  have  him  at  a  banquet 
in  his  honor.  He  slipped  out  of  his  hotel  and  fled  to  Atlanta. 
Mrs.  Harris  gives  the  sequel:  "Before  I  expected  his  return,  I 
saw  a  man  that  looked  like  him  on  a  street  car  crossing  one  on 
which  I  was  going  down  town.  'If  I  didn't  know  he  was  in  New 
York/  I  said  to  myself,  'I  would  be  sure  that  was  he'  At  the  Con- 
stitution I  asked  Mr.  Finch,  Managing  Editor,  when  he  had  last 
heard  from  Mr.  Harris.  'Why,  don't  you  know  he  is  in  town? 
Haven't  you  seen  him  ?  He  came  by  here  and  then  went  home,'  said 
Mr.  Finch.  Home  I  went.  Mr.  Harris  was  walking  contentedly 
about  the  lawn.  'Joel,'  I  exclaimed,  'why  are  you  back  so  soon?' 
'Ain't  you  glad  to  see  me?'  he  asked.  I  reassured  him  on  that  point! 
'I  got  so  homesick,'  he  explained,  'I  couldn't  stand  New  York  any 
longer.  I  just  had  to  come  home  as  quick 
as  I  could  <r»  t  lure!'  Opportunities  for 
Kuropean  tours  offered.  'No!'  said  he. 
'Europe's  too  far  from  home.  Georgia's 
good  enough  for  me ! 

In  Katonton  they  once  thought  they  had 
him  cornered  for  a  speech.  He  was  on  the 
platform  with  Grady.  and  when  his  turn 
came  they  called:  "Harris!  Harris!"  "I'm 
coming!"  he  answered,  and  walked  down 
among  them.  With  some  such  remark  as,  "I 
have  never  been  able  to  make  a  speech  with- 
out taking  a  drink  of  water:  so  you  must 
excuse  me  till  I  go  and  get  a  little  water," 
he  escaped  while  they  laughed  and  cheered. 
That  was  his  one  public  speech. 

The  one  person  who  succeeded  in  bring- 
ing him  into  the  limelight  was  the  President 
of  the  United 
States.  Or.  was 
it  a  little  boy  ? 
The  reader  can 
decide.  When 
coining  to  At- 
lanta in  1905. 
Theodore  Roose- 
velt, then  Presi- 
dent, wrote  that 


11 


he  and  his  wife  wanted  to  meet  Uncle  Remus.  When  the  reception 
committee  insisted  that  Uncle  Remus  ride  in  the  presidential  carriage 
from  the  Terminal  Sation  to  the  Governor's  Mansion,  he  meta- 
phorically "clomb  a  tree/'  like  Brer  Rabbit,  because  he  was 
"bleedzed  to."  "I  can't/'  he  said.  It  was  then  arranged  that  he 
should  quietly  pay  his  respects  to  Mrs.  Roosevelt  at  the  Gov- 
ernor's Mansion  after  her  reception.  Her  little  son,,  Kermit, 
had  written  Uncle  Remus  a  letter,  saying  he  was  ill,  and  plead- 
ing for  an  autograph;  Mr.  Harris  had  responded  with  an  au- 
tographed book;  further  correspondence  had  ensued.  Mr.  Harris 
was  at  his  ease  with  Mrs.  Roosevelt;  here  was  no  grand  lady  seeking 
a  celebrity,  only  a  mother  whose  little  boy  loved  him.  At  her  request, 
he  stepped  with  her  on  a  balcony  overlooking  the  parade  where  her 
husband  was  chief  figure.  "There's  Uncle  Remus !  Caught  at 
last!"  cried  the  people,  cheering  merrily,  while  he  blushed  furiously. 
He  went  to  the  Piedmont  Driving  Club  to  pay  his  respects  to 
the  President  privately.  The  President,  at  a  state  luncheon,  sum- 
moned him  to  the  seat  of  honor.  So  there  was  Uncle  Remus  at  a 
banquet  in  spite  of  himself !  "I  am  going  to  cause  acute  discomfort 
to  a  man  I  am  very  fond  of,"  said  the  President,  and  spoke  at  length 
of  Mr.  Harris's  virtues  as  author  and  citizen,  and  declared  that,  "as 
many  great  things  as  Georgia  had  done  for  the  Union,  she  had  never 

done  a  greater  than 
when  she  gave  Joel 
Chandler  Harris  to 
American  literature." 
His  visit  to  the 
White  House,  in  obe- 
dience to  the  Presi- 
dent's invitation,  fol- 
lowed. "I  was  afraid 
he  would  not  go  un- 
til Julian  got  him  on 
the  train,"  laughed 
his  wife  afterwards. 
"He  liked  the  Roose- 
velts  very  much.  But 
his  nervousness  about 
m  e  e  t  i  ng  strangers, 
who  might  take  him 
for  a  celebrity — 
about  being  conspic- 
uous —  was  distress- 
ing. It  was  an  afflic- 
tion." As  "Mr.  Billy 
Sanders  of  Shady 

Turnwold    (in  ruins).    Harris  Occupied   Upper 
Left-Hand  Corner  Room. 


12 


Dale,"  he  described  this  visit,  giving 
this  impression  of  our  National  dwell- 
ing: "It's  a  home;  it'll  come  over  you 
like  a  sweet  dream  the  minnit  you  git 
in  the  door."  And:  "To  make  it  all 
the  more  natchel,  a  little  boy  was  in 
the  piazzer  waitin'  to  see  me,  an'  what 
more  could  you  ax  than  that  a  little 
boy  should  be  waitin'  for  to  see  you 
before  he  was  tucked  in  bed?" 

His  charities — he  would  never  have 
called  them  that ! — were  performed  in 
a  manner  that  was  all  his 
own.  When  his1  wife  left 
home,  she  never  knew  what 
property  might  be  miss 
ing — or  added — on  her  re- 
turn. She  relates:  "I  was 
overlooking  his  wardrobe 
for  a  coat  I  had  put  away. 
'Joel.'  I  asked,  'what  did 
you  do  with  that  coat  ?'  He 
n-plicd.  'An  old  man  came 
here  one  day.  asking  if 
then  was  an  old  coat  I 

could  give  him.     Why.  yes.  I  told  him.     Here's  one  I've  been  keep- 
ing for  you.     He  seemed  surprised.'  " 

Disturbed  by  a  peddler  offering  soap,  he  said  he  needed  none. 
"Hut  I  am  on  the  verge  of  starvation,"  pleaded  the  peddler.  "Why, 
man."  laughed  Harris,  "your  clothes  look  better  than  mine!"  "If 
you  knew  how  my  poor  wife  brushed  and  smoothed  them — "  Harris 
studied  him  anew,  noting  that  his  garments  were  old  and  their 
wearer  of  genteel  bearing.  "I  answered  hastily,"  he  said.  "I  need 
soap.  Here  is  a  five  dollar  bill.  I'll  take  it  all  in  soap."  The  ped- 
dler left  his  entire  stock. 

He  was  observing  his  Ramie  plant  one  day  when  an  Oriental 
woman,  bearing  a  bundle,  timidly  entered  "the  gate  that  is  never 
closed,"  as  he  described  the  entrance  to  his  grounds.  She  came  bow- 
ing and  smiling.  Would  the  so  nice  gentleman  buy  some  shawl  or 
some  of  the  most  beautiful  lace  for  his  lady?  And  if  not  so,  would 
he  graciously  allow  one  who  was  prostrate  at  his  feet,  to  look  at  the 
— oh,  so  pretty  tree  ?  Receiving  cordial  invitation,  she  fixed  her 
eyes,  all  her  homesick  soul  in  them,  on  the  Ramie  plant,  like  herself, 
a  wanderer  from  her  native  land ;  and  forgot  her  bundle ;  but  he  did 
not  and  his  lady  acquired  more  shawl  and  lace  than  she  knew  what 
to  do  with. 


Joel 

Chandler 
Harris 
at  the 
age  of 
Twenty- 
One 


(From   a 
Faded 
Photo 


graph) 


13 


Joel 

Chandler 
Harris 
at  the 
age  of 
Twenty- 
Four 


(Time  of 

His 
Marriage) 


Street    railway    employees    on    the 
line    running    past    his    house    found 
him  a  friend.     In  horse  ear  days  he 
often    relieved    the    driver    while    the 
latter   went   inside   the   ear   to    warm 
or  eat  his  lunch.     His  interest  in  his 
fellow  craftsmen  was  unfailing.,  and 
lie  never  forgot  that  printers  were  of 
this  class.     The  resolutions  passed  on 
his  death  by  the  Atlanta  Typograph- 
ical    Union     was     perhaps     its     first 
tribute  of  the  kind  to  anyone.      He 
helped       many       struggling 
writers.       Need     where     or- 
ganized    charity     does     not 
look,  he  relieved  with  touch 
too  delicate  to  wound.     The 
following       instances        are 
characteristic : 

"Our  young  friend,  X," 
he  wrote  his  absent  son,  "is 
here  on  a  visit.  I  found  him 
on  the  street,  down  and 
out,  and  brought  him 

home  with  me — what  I  would  have  some  one  do  for  you  were  you  to 
happen  on  such  hard  luck."  X  is  a  man  of  mark  today — and  not  the 
only  one  who,  in  the  hour  of  youthful  struggle,  met  the  genial  grasp 
of  Uncle  Remus's  hand  and  sat  down  at  his  board.  A  gentleman  he 
knew  became  partially  paralyzed,  and  his  family  suffered.  Mr.  Har- 
ris, seeking  work  this  man  could  do,  consulted  a  mutual  friend  about 
obtaining  for  him  the  postmastership  of  a  new  sub-station.  The 
friend  exclaimed,  "No  chance  for  him  against  applicants  with  strong 
pulls."  "Strong  pulls  !"  retorted  Harris.  "You  forget  he  Is  a  para- 
lytic!"  "What's  that  got  to  do  with  getting  him  a  government  posi- 
tion?" "Everything!  Amos  Fox,  our  postmaster,  and  Senator  Col- 
quitt  have  both  been  paralyzed."  He  saw  Fox  and  wrote  to  C'ol- 
quitt.  The  paralytic  got  the  job. 

His  dealings  with  a  number  of  humble  pensioners  of  both  races 
was  a  composition  of  humor  and  pathos.  There  were  some  old  men 
on  the  retired  lists  of  labor  who  looked  to  him  for  stipends  as  war 
veterans  look  to  the  Government.  A  specially  pathetic  instance  was 
that  of  a  Frenchman,  a  landscape  gardener,  a  little  old  man  who 
went  blind;  his  daughter  came  to  the  Wren's  Nest  every  week  for 
her  father's  allowance.  To  Negroes  he  was  ever  kind. 

He  did  not  try  to  build  up  a  large  estate,  although  with  fame  ,/ 
came  profits.     His  wife  relates:     "He  used  to  say,  'Let's  enjoy  things 


14 


as  we  go  along,,  and  while  we  are  all  together.  I  just  want  to  leave 
enough  when  I  die  to  take  care  of  you  and  the  girls.  The  boys  can 
take  care  of  themselves/  He  was  generous  in  his  home,  although  he 
discouraged  extravagance  and  advocated  simple  living  by  precept 
and  example.  He  kept  a  cabinet  of  small  change  which  was  open  to  ^ 
the  household  at  their  convenience.  While  indulgent  to  his  chil- 
dren, he  was  firm.  'This  is  thusly,'  he  would  say,  laying  down  the 
law.  He  kept  up  his  country  habits,  rising  and  retiring  early. 
liked  to  go  out  in  the  morning  and  trim  rosebushes  and  cut  flowers; 
would  bring  in  great  baskets  of  roses.  He  liked  to  look  after  his 
raspberry  and  strawberry  vines  and  his  col  lard  patch." 

Who  that  is  familiar  with  his  essays  as  "The  Farmer/'  will  not 
recall  the  way  in  which  he  served  "cornpone  and  collards"  to  his 
readers?  There  is  the  little  story  that  his  young  friend,  Don  Mar- 
quis, told  of  him.  Don,  going  to  see  him  one  morning,  was  greeted: 
"I  want  to  show  you  a  poem  of  mine!"  Don  expected  a  manuscript. 
Uncle  Remus  took  him  out  in  the  yard  and  exhibited  a  wistaria  vine 
in  full  bloom  ! 

"He  liked  old  things,  old-fashioned  things,"  savs  his  wife. 
"He  did  not  like  new  furniture,  new  carpets;  said  he  didn't  like 
the  new  smell  and  was  glad  when  the  new  wore  off;  he  liked  things 
that  had  served  us;  wanted  things  to  stay  put.  Once,  soon  after 
we  began  housekeeping,  when  1  had  been  house-cleaning  and  moving 
furniture  around,  he  came  in  and  exclaimed:  'YVhv,  Kssie,  you've 
been  changing  tilings  around  How  is  a  man  to  know  if  he  is  in  his 
own  house  or  some  other  man's  if  you  change  things  around  so." 

As  an  editor,  he  was  "deeply  interested  in  the  tremendous  move- 
inents  of  the  present,  the  onward  rush  of  things."  As  a  man  he  un- 
derstood the  heart  of  youth,  the  heart  of  a  girl.  Witness  these  ex- 
tracts from  letters  to  "Billy"  (his  pet  name  for  Lillian)  at  school: 

"A  new  set   of  furniture — birchwood:  think  of  that! — is  to  be 
placed  in  your  room,  and  it  is  to  be  yours  all  by  yourself;  everything 
spick  and  span,  everything  new;  all  the  cobwebs  knocked  down,  all 
the  dust  blown  out."     This  was  anent   her  home-coming.      Inviting 
her  call  upon  his  purse:     "If  you  are  to  read  an  essay,  you  will  need 
a  piece  of  blue  ribbon  to  tie  it  with,  and  a  fan  to  hide  your  embar- 
rassment."     Praising  her  excellent  school   record,  he  warns:     "But 
listen,  Miss  Pods:  don't  study  too  hard.     Take  care  of  your  health." 
"Your  report  is  horribly  good.      It  makes  cold  chills 
run   over   me   to  think  of  the   amount  of  vitality  you 
must  expend  to  get  a  perfect  report."      "Mamma  isn't 
joking    about    coming   to    see    you;    she'll    come."    he 
promises.     "My  dear,  I  hope  you'll  look  at  the  world 
as  I  do  as  you  grow  older,"  he  counsels.     "If  you  do, 
it    will    be    a    mixture    of    mince    pie    and    plum    pud- 
ding  the   year   round."      "Learn    to    laugh    at   things 


Joel 

Chandler 
Harris 
at  the 
age  of 
Thirty- 
Four 


that  irritate  you.  And  be  generous 
and  kind,  and  you'll  soon  find  that 
the  most  beautiful  part  of  life  is  that 
which  you  spend  in  doing  good  to 
others." 

"Billy"    is    home,     a     young   lady 
grown,    and    "Tommus"     (Mildred) 
continues      at      school.      He      writes 
"Tommus"    about    "Billy's"    affairs: 
"Now,    what    do    you    reckon?    and 
what   do   you   think?   says   I    with   a 
nod,  says  I  with  a  wink.     It's  noth- 
ing to  eat,  it's  nothing  to  drink.    Oh, 
no,  indeed,  it's  better  than  that;  for 
Billy     has     bought     her     a 
brand  new  hat!     It's  partly 
a  hat,  and  partly  a  bonnet, 
with     fluffy     white     chiffon 
and  roses  upon  it!"        And: 
"Fritz  and  Billy  Ann  tried 
hard  today  to  wear  out  the 
old   red  bench  in  the  yard. 
They  sat,  and  sat,  and  the 
breezes      blewed,      and     the 
birds  flewed,  and  the  chick- 
ens  shoed,  and  the  cows  chewed,  and  the  pigeons  cooed,  and  the  kit- 
tens mewed,  and  the  road  rewd  and  Stewart  stewd.  And  that  ain't  all 
nuther,  but  I've  forgotten  the  rest.  That's  always  the  way.     When 
I  get  hold  of  something  interesting,  I  sit  right  down  and  forget  it." 
"Billy"  is  now  Mrs.  Fritz. 

To  one  of  the  daughters  who  was  a  very  little  girl  at  the  time, 
he  wrote:  "The  little  yellow  kitten  is  dead.  It  just  died  it- 
self and  Mama  didn't  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  All  the  other 
cats  are  alive  and  well,  and  would  send  love  if  they  knew  how 
nice  you  are.  The  little  calfy  is  well.  At  any  rate,  it  chewed  a 
button  off  my  coat  while  I  was  scratching  its  back.  The  chickens 
are  all  in  the  pen,  and  they  seem  to  like  it.  The  little  children  in  the 
neighborhood  have  been  having  birthday  parties.  They  are  all  six 
years  old  this  year,  but  nobody  knows  how  young  they'll  be  20  years 
from  now.  Why  should  they  be  six  this  year  instead  of  some  other 
year?" 

To  both  his  daughters  at  school:  "Here  comes  the  old  man  a- 
writing  to  his  gals  with  nothing  whatsomever  for  to  write  about. 
Things  are  very  bad  about  the  house  when  Mama  is  ailing.  It  does 
no  good  for  me  to  put  on  old  Chloe's  frock  and  try  to  keep  things 
straight.  They  will  go  wrong.  And  I  can't  sit  down  and  listen  to 


16 


the  gossip  with  the  neighbors  who 
call.  I  can  listen,,  but  that  doesn't 
satisfy  them.  No,  everything  goes 
wrong  when  Mama  is  ailing,  and 
even  gossip  gets  stale.  But  as  I 
told  you,,  she  is  getting  better  now 
and  things  will  brighten  up — noth- 
ing more  so  than  poor  me."  JF.-  Joel 

"The  trees   are  just   one  mass   of  Chandler 

J  ,,    .  Hams 

bloom,      he    writes    to       lommus      in  t^flp  at  the 

springtime.      "The   roses    are   begin-  i''XjnBfcfri  a&e  °? 

ning  to  bloom.    I  saw  a  thrush  today.  Forty- 

Just  now,  I  hear  a  catbird  singing." 

Christmas  is  coming;  the 
girls  at  school  are  eager  for 
tin-  holiday  at  home.  "If 
my  dear  gals  will  collect 
their  thoughts,  put  them  in 
a  bag,  and  shake  them  up, 
they  will  see  that  Christ- 
mas is  only  twenty-three 
days  off."  lie  rrasurrs  them; 
and  "Tdl  Mildred  to  write 
at  once  to  Mama  and  tell 
her  what  presents  she  wants 

bought  to  give  to  others.  Mama  will  not  write  this  week,  as  she 
is  so  busy  fixing  for  Christmas.  We  have  the  cutest  present  for  you 
both  that  you  ever  saw.  Fine!  Some  of  us  will  meet  you  at  the 
train. — Your  loving  Daddy." 

I  know  of  nothing  to  compare  with  Mr.  Harris's  letters  to  his 
daughters  unless  it  be  Mark  Twain's  tribute  to  his  daughter  Jean. 

Letters  to  his  sons,  lengthy,  intensely  personal,  and  intimate, 
were  written  with  pencil  on  copy  paper  usually;  began,  "My  dear 
Boy,"  and  ended,  "Your  affectionate  Dad."  They  show  that  his 
sons  poured  themselves  out  to  him  as  sons  rarely  do  to  fathers,  and 
that  they  loved  their  home  as  his  <>-irls  did.  To  Lucien,  in  Canada, 
he  wrote:  "I  am  lonesome  without  you,  but  not  selfishly  so.  I  want 
you  to  have  all  the  enjoyment  you  can.  But  don't  stay  away  from 
us  simply  to  showr  that  you  are  not  homesick.  There  is  nothing  un- 
manly in  such  a  feeling.  I  should  think  there  was  something  wrong 
about  your  mother  and  me  if  you  were  not  homesick." 

To  "our  little  affair,"  his  son's  heart-entanglement,  he  devotes  a 
series  of  such  letters  as  women  write  to  women  but  men  rarely  write 
to  men.  Besides  the  delicacy,  freedom,  and  intimacy,  there  is  the 
masculine  touch,  however.  As  for  the  girl  herself,  who  maybe  is 
jilting  his  boy,  he  handles  her  as  if  she  were  a  flower.  "The  im- 


17 


(Photographed  by  Stephensoii  while  Riley  was  nt  the  Wren's  Nest.) 

JOEL   CHANDLER   HARRIS   AND   JAMES    WHITCOMB   RILKY. 

Riley  was  a  welcome  and  beloved  guest  at  the  Wren's  Nest.  He  and 
Uncle  Remus  were  congenial  spirits  and  affectionate  friends.  On  Mr.  Har- 
ris's death  Riley  wrote  Julian  Harris:  "The  world  is  bowed  with  you  in 
your  great  bereavement.  Though  his  voice  is  stilled  forever,  forever  will 
it  be  heard  gladdening  alike  the  Jiearfs  of  age  and  childhood.  Alwayx  I 
think  of  his  Christmas  l^rauer  and  sat/  amen,  an  I  tri/  to  say  it  note." 


is 


(By  FrviHcvs  Bcnjuinin  Joimsfoii.  ) 
THi:    /'OHTH.1IT     WITH    -Till:     T\VI\k'LK." 

"I  hare  now  found  out  for  the  firxt  time  idiot  you  meant  by  the  twinkle. 
The  twinkle  tec  nix  to  be  inc.  nii/xelf.  offer  oil.  and  I  have  been  (joiny  on  all 
fhexe  i/corn.  not  kinncint/  idiot  ica.v  >nixf*iii(/  from  {he  photOffTapht  I  had 
token  hi/  })c<>\>\<'  icho  kneic  nothing  about  the  twinkle.  M'-rx.  Harris  declares 
that  ifnur  ftortroifx  re  ^resent  tin  ox  xlic  *ecx  inc."  K.ftract  from  letter  by 
Mr.  Horrix  to  Mix*  Johnston.  December.  /!><»!.  Mix*  Johnxfon  had  sent  Mr. 
Iforrix  o  collection  of  photographic  xfiidiex  made  by  herself  during  a  visit 
to  the  Wren'  it 


19 


Met  a  'possum  in  de  road. 

Brer  'Possum,  zvhar  you  gwine? 
I  bless  my  life,  I  thank  my  stars, 

I'm  hunting  fer  de  muscadine. 


To  St.  Andrew: 
Thus  saith  the  prophet  Joel 
"Hit  takes  de  Bee  fer  ter  (/it 

ness 
Oiif'n    de   hoarhouixl   blossom 


(Courtesy  Ladies'  Home  Journal.) 


ANDREW  CARNEGIE  AND    UNCLE  REMUS  AT   THE 
WREN'S  NEST. 

"Happy,  indeed,  that  I  can  subscribe  myself  not  only  an  admirer,  but 
a  loving  friend  of  that  rare  soul,  Uncle  Remus" — so  Mr.  Carnegie  auto- 
graphed his  portrait  given  to  the  Wren's  Nest.  Mr.  Harris  presented  sev- 
eral of  his  books  to  Mr.  Carnegie  after  the  latter' s  visit  to  the  Wren's  Nest 
in  1906.  His  inscriptions  on  some  of  these  appear  on  this  page. 


20 


"Recreations: 

Thinking  of 

things  and 

tending   his 

roses.     Lives  it 

the   suburb   of 

West  End, 

•where  he  has 

a  comfortable 

home  built  to 

a  veranda,  on  < 

five-acre  lot 

full  of  birds, 

flowers, 
children  and 
collards." — 

/•;//////*/»  "Who', 

Who,"  1908. 


(Coim.'.xy  /  In-  World's  \Vorfc.) 

ir// /•; /,'/•;  n A:  WROTI:  J/.MT  OF  HIS  STORIES. 


portant  thing,"  he  says,  "is  not  so  much  her  attitude  to  you  as  yours 
to  her."  His  first  care  is  that  his  son  may  treat  love  and  woman  no- 
bly. He  is  concerned  lest  his  hoy  may  doubt  a  sincere  affection 
hiding  under  girlish  inconsistencies.  With  humorous  philosophy,  he 
says:  "It  ought  to  t<  aeh  you  what  I  learned  long  ago — that  you 
can't  understand  the  female  sex.  I've  been  knowing  your  Mama  for 
more  than  20  years,  but  do  I  know  her  as  well  as  I  do  you?  Well. 
I  can  stand  up  in  the  Moor,  and  say,  I  reckon  not,  by  jing!"  And: 
"Love  is  like  a  hummingbird's  nest — very  much  in  the  air.  Don't 
take  it  too  seriously." 

This  love  story  had  a  happy  ending  (as  Mrs.  Lucien  Harris 
might  tell)  ;  and  this  may  have  been  somewhat  due  to  Uncle  Remus, 
that  good  genius  of  true  lovers.  He  qualified  charmingly  as  a  fath- 
er-in-law, and  the  world  may  yet  hear  of  him  in  that  capacity  in  a 
memoir  by  Julian's  wife,  who  was  one  of  his  chums,  and  whose  lit- 
erary gifts  he  encouraged.  A  slender  girl  at  his  side,  she  used  to 
roam  with  Uncle  Remus  about  the  grounds  at  the  Wren's  Nest  for 
many  happy  hours;  and  she  can  tell  the  loveliest  stories  about  their 
communings.  Lucien's  wife,  standing  with  me  under  the  Mocking 
Bird  Tree  at  the  last  May  Festival,  mentioned  among  other  remi- 
niscences of  "Father": 

"Sometimes  when  I'd  run  over  here  I'd  find  none  of  the  family 
in  but  Father.  He'd  come  in  the  living-room  and  talk  with  me — 
sometimes  for  a  whole  afternoon.  I  know  Father  loved  me  for  my- 
self, or  he  wouldn't  have  done  that.  He'd  bring  me  presents — a 


21 


book,  a  box  of  candy, 
a  pair  of  gloves — 
and  say:  'This  is 
for  you  personally — 
it's  just  between  nit- 
and  you — it's  none 
of  'TootsieY  busi- 
ness. ['Tootsie'  was 
his  pet  name  for  Lu- 
cien,  you  know.] 
Don't  let's  tell  any- 
body.' I'd  find  ten 
dollars  or  something 
of  the  kind  tucked 
away  in  the  gift. 
That  was  Father's 
way  with  us  all." 

His  letters  about 
his  grandbabies,  some 
of  whom  were  born 

at  the  Wren's  Nest,  are  delightful  in  their  fun,  wisdom,  and  tender- 
ness. Here  is  the  way  he  writes  to  Billy  about  a  new  grandbaby  in 
1897: 

"The  news  is  so  scattered  that  it  is  hard  to  gather  it  up.  In  fa.ct 
there's  nothing;  but  the  baby.  You  remember  I  told  you  he  was  very 
old.  Well,  it's  a  fact.  He  is  bald-headed,  and  all  his  teeth  have 
dropped  out,  and  his  head  is  wabbly  and  he  is  too  decrepit  to  walk. 
And  he's  irritable  too,  just  like  an  old  man.  When  he  yells  for  his 
food,  he  talks  as  the  donkey  does,  only  not  so  loud.  But  he  sleeps 
most  of  the  time,  and  this  is  another  sign  of  extreme  old  age ;  he  can 
hold  nothing  in  his  hands.  He  may  grow  younger  as  he  grows  older, 
and  I  hope  he  will.  You  said  something  about  my  being  a  grandpa. 
But  the  way  I  look  at  it,  this  baby  is  too  small  and  wrinkled  to 
count.  If  I'm  to  be  a  grandpa,  I  want  to  be  one  sure  enough.  I 
want  to  be  the  grandpa  of  something  that  you  can  find  without  hunt- 
ing through  a  bundle  of  shawls  and  blankets.  If  this  is  what  you 
call  a  grandpa,  anybody  can  be  one,  for  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  get 
a  squall  and  wrap  it  up  in  a  shawl,  and  there  you  are !  Mama  hov- 
ers around  and  looks  wise,  and  seems  to  think  that  every  time  the 
clock  strikes,  the  squall  ought  to  be  smothered  with  a  quart  of 
catnip  tea.  No  name  has  yet  been  found  that  is  quite  good 
enough." 

Loving  children  and  at  ease  with  them  as  they  were  with  him, 
he  was  unable  to  encounter  even  them  in  any  ceremonious  way. 
His  fifty-eighth  birthday  was  to  be  celebrated  in  Children's  Room, 
Carnegie  Library,  and  he  was  asked  to  address  the  children.  The 


22 


hour  arrived,,  and  this  note  from  Uncle  Remus  to  Miss  Anne  Wal- 
lace, Librarian: 

"I  do  not  know  how  I  can  ever  convey  to  you  my  grat- 
itude for  making  my  poor  birthday  an  occasion  for  celebration  by 
th<  children  of  Atlanta.  No  higher  tribute  could  be  paid  than  this; 
and  I  am  far  from  being  sure  that  I  deserve  it.  Yet  what  a  great 
tiling  it  would  be  if,  after  all,  I  did  deserve  it. 

"I  should  like  to  be  there — but  how  can  I  face  the  children— 
their  beauty,  their  sweetness,  their  innocence — how  can  I  appear  be- 
fore these  little  ones  without  bursting  into  tears  of  gratitude?  How 
could  I,  knowing  what  they  are  there  for,  behold  them  without  mak- 
ing great  display  of  what  Brer  Rabbit  would  call  his  big  boo-hoo  ? 
1  depend  upon  your  woman's  heart — which  never  fails  to  know — to 
sympathize  with  what  I  mean-  and  what  I  feel.  Your  faithful  and 
affectionate  friend,  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS. 

That  note  might  be  read  as  a  part  of  the  ceremonial  in  every  cel- 
ebration of  his  birthday.  Its  spirit  of  reverence  for  woman  and 
childhood — a  spirit  that  marked  him  always — makes  eternal  appeal 
for  our  reverent  memory  of  him  and  all  that  concerned  him.  It  is 
fitting  that  to  a  band  of  women  should  be  entrusted  the  charge  ot 
keeping  his  memory  green  by  preserving  his  home  as  a  shrine. 

His  last  Christmas  editorial.  "Christmas  and  the  Fairies,"  reads 
like  a  tender  valedictory  to 
all  the  world:  it  concludes: 
"The  Farmer  wishes  for  old 
and  young  the  merriest 
Christinas  and  the  happiest 
New  Year  the  world  has 
ever  seen.  He  hopes  the 
materialist  may  never  In- 
able  to  destroy  in  the  minds 
of  the  children  the  buddinu 
faith  in  things  unseen,  the 
kindling  belief  in  things  be- 
yond their  knowledge:  he 
hopes  that  Santa  Clans  will 
come  to  them  while  they 
sleep,  and  that  real  Fairies 
will  dance  in  their  innocent 
dreams." 

An  editorial  on  "The 
Matter  of  Belief"  (written 
long  before,  but  appearing 
in  strange  coincidence  with 
his  death),  reflects  his 

(Courtesy  Book  Ntti-.s  Monthly) 

Mr*,    .loci    Chandler    Harris    and 
Her  Grandchildren. 


own  simple  faith:  "We  must  become  as  little  children;"  we  must  be 
brotherly;  and  "The  Farmer  knows  that  He  who  created  life,  which 
is  the  greatest  mystery  of  all,  is  fully  equal  to  the  production  of  all 
other  mysteries  and  miracles."  "His  faith  in  Providence  was  always 
very  strong/'  says  his  wife.  "Whenever  we  were  in  trouble,  he 
would  say,  'God  will  take  care  of  us.'  He  was  always  sure  of  that." 
He  was  not  a  member  of  the  church  visible  until  shortly  before  his 
death  when  he  was  received  into  the  Catholic  communion,  that  of 
his  wife;  but  he  was  always  deeply  religious.  When  he  was  a  little 
boy,  his  mother  took  him  to  his  grandmother's  funeral.  In  a  letter, 
written  when  a  young  man,  he  describes  the  impression  made  upon 
him  by  these  words  of  the  service:  "I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the 
Life;"  they  rang  in  his  ears  continually;  he  wrote  them  in  his  copy- 
book ;  they  abided  with  him  as  the  strongest  in  his  soul's  experience. 

He  was  only  sixty  when  death  touched  him — before  the  years 
could  bend  him  or  the  sunshine  of  his  days  could  dim.  "Humor  is 
a  great  thing  to  live  by,"  he  once  wrote,  "and  other  things  being 
equal,  it  is  a  profitable  thing  to  die  by."  He  met  death  sweetly,  reso- 
lutely, genially,  knowing  for  several  days  that  the  end  was  near. 
The  old  playful,  whimsical  manner  of  his  intercourse  with  his  fam- 
ily was  preserved  until  he  sank  into  unconsciousness.  To  his  son's 
greeting  one  morning,  "How  are  you,  Father?"  he  replied,  his  eyes 
striving  for  their  merry  twinkle,  "I  am  about  the  extent  of  a  tenth 
of  a  gnat's  eyebrow  better."  Once,  Julian  said,  "Father,  your  time 
has  not  yet  come  to  be  no  more."  He  answered:  "Rather  when  a 
man  dies,  instead  of  saying,  'He  is  no  more,'  say,  'He  is  forever !'  ' 
In  his  own  quaint  words,  he  went  in  childlike  faith,  "to  see  what  is 
on  the  other  side,"  passing  away  July  3,  1908,  at  7:58  in  the  evening. 

Sunday,  July  4,  he  was  borne  from  his  home  to  St.  Anthony's 
Church  nearby,  and  after  the  last  rites,  simple  as  he  would  have  had 
them,  were  performed  by  Father  Jackson,  he  was  laid  to  rest  in 
Westview  Cemetery.  Rev.  Dr.  J.  W.  Lee  preached  a  memorial  ser- 
mon to  him  in  Trinity  M.  E.  Church.  Protestant  and  Catholic  thus 
united  to  do  him  honor.  His  grave  is  marked  by  a  granite  boulder 
on  which  these  words  selected  from  his  writings  by  Julian,  are  in- 
scribed as  his  epitaph: 

"I  seem  to  see  before  me  the  smiling  faces  of  thousands  of  chil- 
dren— some  young  and  fresh  and  some  wearing  the  friendly  marks  of 
age,  but  all  children  at  heart — and  not  an  unfriendly  face  among 
them.  And  while  I  am  trying  hard  to  speak  the  right  word,  I  seem 
to  hear  a  voice  lifted  above  the  rest,  saying:  'You  have  made  some 
of  us  happy.'  And  so  I  feel  my  heart  fluttering  and  my  lips  trem- 
bling and  I  have  to  bow  silently,  and  turn  away  and  hurry  into  the 
obscurity  that  fits  me  best." 

Never  into  obscurity,  O  sweet,  brave  soul !  The  sun  shines — and 
it  shines  for  us  all — wherever  you  are! 

President  Theodore  Roosevelt  wrote  to  Julian:     "His  writings 


24 


will  last.  To  very  few  writers  is  it  given  to  create  one  of  the  un- 
dying characters  of  story,  and  this  was  given  to  Joel  Chandler  Har- 
ris in  the  creation  of  Uncle  Remus.  But  his  Uncle  Remus  stories 
are  but  a  small  part  of  his  writings  which  have  great  and  permanent 
value.  _  From  the  standpoint  of  our  common  American 

citizenship,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  ethical  quality  of  your  father's 
writings  was  quite  as  important  as  their  purely  literary  value.  _ 
Your  father  was  a  genius;  and  furthermore,  he  was  a  man  who  in 
his  private  life,  in  its  modesty,  its  simplicity,  its  kindliness  and  re- 
finement, illustrated  the  very  quality  which  we  must  all  of  us  like  to 
see  typical  of  the  homes  of  the  Nation;  and  finally.,  he  never  wrote 
anything  which  did  not  make  the  man  or  woman  reading  it  feel  a  lit- 
tle better,  feel  that  his  or  her  impulses  for  good  had  been  strength- 
ened ;  feel  a  more  resolute  purpose  to  do  with  cheerfulness  and  cour- 
age, with  good  sense  and  charity,  whatever  duty  was  next  to  be  done." 

President  Woodrow  Wilson  paid  this  tribute,  in  a  recent  letter 
to  Mrs.  A.  Mel).  Wilson:  "I  am  one  of  the  very  enthusiastic  admir- 
ers of  the  man  who  has  given  us  at  once  so  much  instruction  and  so 
much  pleasure  in  his  depicting  of  the  character  of  the  old-fashioned 
Negro  of  the  South." 

This  sketch,  issued  by  the  Association  which  preserves  his  home 
as  his  monument,  deals,  and  fitly,  with  his  home  life  rather  than  with 
his  work  as  a  man  of  letters.  The  world  has  been  and  will  be  re- 
minded in  nianv  other  wavs  of  his  position  in  literature,  which  must 
strengthen  with  the  years.  He  ranks  with  its  finest  and  sweetest  ^ 
humorists,  and  as  one  of  its  greatest  masters  of  folklore,  a  science 
which  lias  come  to  be  recognized  as  such  only  within  a  century. 

He  is  grouped  with  St.  Francis  of  Assissi,  who  preached  sermons 
to  birds;  with  Hans  Christian  Andersen,  the  Grimm  brothers,  and 
others  of  their  cult  who,  in  preserving  the  world's  folklore,  have  pre- 
served its  prehistoric  literature.  In  Negro  dialect,  he  has  no  equal. 
The  service  which  he  performed  could  not  now  be  rendered  by  any 
other,  for  the  plantation  life  of  the  old  South  and  the  old  Negro 
have  passed  away.  His  popularity  is  extensive.  An  American  tour- 
ist in  Egypt,  saw,  on  a  boat  on  the  Nile,  a  group  of  children  around 
a  story-teller's  knee,  listening  to  "Nights  with  Uncle  Remus"  told 
in  a  foreign  tongue.  A  traveler  in  Australia  reported  that  the 
"Uncle  Remus"  classics  greeted  him  in  bookshops  wherever  he 
turned.  In  Anglicized  Africa,  the  Negro's  native  habitat,  they  are 
much  read.  Several  Georgians  dining  in  London  with  a  nobleman, 
made  casual  reference  to  Atlanta.  "Oh,"  exclaimed  a  chorus,  "that's 
where  Uncle  Remus  lives !"  In  the  University  of  Berlin,  a  lecturer 
on  American  Literature,  pronounced  "Uncle  Remus,  His  Songs  and 
Sayings,"  the  "most  important  individual  contribution  to  American 
literature  since  1870."  As  an  estimate,  sincere  and  rounded,  we 
give  this,  written  by  one  of  his  associates  at  the  time  of  his  death: 

"He  was  the  articulate  voice  of  the  wonderful  folklore  of  that 


25 


humbler  race  whose  every  mood  and  tense  he  knew  with  complete 
comprehensiveness.  His  shrewd.,  kindly.,  and  humorous  delineation 
of  the  Negro,  and  the  reasoning  life  he  has  given  the  simple  animals 
of  the  fields  and  forests  make  him  known  wherever  people  read  and 
think.  His  mission  was — and  is — broader.  For  his  folklore  and 
his  novels,  his  short  stories  and  his  poems  breathe  consistently  a  dis- 
tinguishing philanthropy.  It  is  the  creed  of  optimism,  of  mutual 
trust  and  tolerance  for  all  things  living,  of  common  sense  and  of 
idealism  that  is  wortli  while  because  it  fits  the  unvarnished  duty 
of  every  hour." 

And  these  lines  from  Frank  L.  Stanton's  beautiful  tribute: 

"He   made    the    lowly   cabin-fires 
Light    the   far  windows   of   the   world!'' 

And  these  from  the  poem  in  which  Rev.  George  W.  Belk  voiced 
the  plaint  of  the  children  for  the  loss  of  their  wonderful  story- 
teller: 

The  rabbit  will  hide  But   who   can   tell  us 

As  he  always  hid,  What  they  say 

And  the  fox  will  do  Since   Uncle  Remus 

,/.s-  he  always  did.  Has    passed    awat/? 


Cist  of  !&ooks  b?  Uoel  (Lfyan&ler  Tfarris 

FROM  THE  HARRIS  BIBLIOGRAPHY  BY  KATHARINE  H.  WOOTTEN, 
Librarian,  Carnegie  Library,  Atlanta,  Ga. 

Aaron  in  the  Wildwoods — 1897. 

Balaam  and   His   Master— 1891. 

Bishop  and  the  Boogerman — 1909. 

Chronicles  of  Aunt  Minervy  Ann- — 1899. 

Daddy  Jake,  the    Runaway— 1889. 

Free  Jot — 1887. 

Gabriel  Tolliver — 1902. 

History  of  Georgia — 1896. 

Kidnaping     of     President      Lincoln — 1909      (published     originally 

under  the  title.  "On  the  Wing  <>f  Occasions" — 1900). 
Little  Mr.  Thimbleh'nger  and  His  Queer  Country — 189L 
Little  Union  Scout — 190k 
Making  of  a   Statesman — 19O2. 
Mingo,  and  Other  Sketches — 188-1. 
Mr.    Rabbit   at    Home    (a   sequel  to   "Little   Mr.   Thimblefinger")— 

1895. 

Nights  With  Uncle  Remus— 1883. 
On  the   Plantation,  a  Story  of  a  Georgia   Boy's  Adventures  During 

the   War       IS9-J. 
On  the  Wing  of  Occasions— 1900   (republished  in   1909  under  the 

title.  "Kidnaping  of   President  Lincoln"). 
Plantation    Pageants— 1899. 
Shadow    Between    His    Shoulder    Blades  — c.    1907. 

Sister  Jam 1896. 

Stories  of  Georgia — 1896   (also  published  under  the  title,  "History 

of  Georgia"). 
Story   of  Aaron — 1885. 

Tales  of  the  Home    Folks   in    Peace  and   War — 1898. 
Tar-Baby,  and  Other   Rhymes       190k 
Told  by  Uncle  Remus- -19or>. 
Uncle    Remus  and   His   Friends— 1892. 
Uncle  Remus  and  Brer  Rabbit— c.  1907. 
Uncle   Remus,  His  Songs  and  Sayings — 1880. 
Uncle  Remus  and  the  Little  Boy — c.   1910. 
Wally  Wanderoon— 1903. 

In  addition  to  the  above,  Mr.  Harris  was  editor  and  translator 
of  many  books.  Of  chief  interest  is  the  "Life  of  Henry  W.  Grady," 
which  he  edited. 


of  tye  Wren's 

///   //>/.v  lord i/  zconderland 
Of  dreams  and  memories. 
It  seems  where'er   I   </o  or  stand 
He  also  present  is, 

I  do  not  see  Ithn,  yet  I  feel 

That,  somehozc,  he  is  ni</h — 
/  dream,  hut  sometimes  dreams  reveal 

Thin;/s  hidden  from  the  eye. 

Ahsorheil  in    thon;/hts  and  dreams  of  him, 

These   pleasant    paths   I   pare, 
\\'hen    sudden,   from   some   corert    dim, 

l'/>on    me  smiles  his  face! 

Perhaps   a   </lint   of  sunshine,  or 

Only    mil   fancy's   ichim. 
Yet   in   mil  heart   if  woke  once   more 

()ld   memories  of  him. 

These   lionj/hs  which   droop  tihore   my  head 

.In    whispering    to   me; 
It    seems   as    fhoni/h    the  if    softly   said: 

"We    knew   him.       Where   is   he.J" 

l-'roni   erery   hloomina   Inish   ami  spray 

Past    which    /    slow/if    <fo. 
.1    in  n  r  m  n  r  comes  that  seems  to  say; 

••Hi's    i/oiie;   -:a     lored   him    so." 

.  I    \cren    upon    her  in  .-•/    I 

Sin     eiii-s    me    unafraid. 
.1    sheltered    plure    of    xaiirlity 

Hi  re    for   In  /•   lirond  he    made. 

The    mockbirdl   sana    for   him    their   hesf  ; 

Hi    kneic   their  wild-life   ways. 
Hark!    One.    ereii    now.    pefrhed    on    its    nest, 

I'lcxtatic  sinifs   his   praisr. 

Wise   was   his    mind:    wide   was    his   heart; 

liolh   took   the  who/i'  world  in. 
lie    i-hose    the    world's    hesf    for    his   art. 

Lored   all      sare    only    sin. 

.Ih.  ;/ en  ins    is   a    i/ift    dirine. 

l\i  rend   when  re  r    found. 
Harris!   the  world  knows  sm-li   was  thine; 

Hi/in    In  ,-i    is   hallowed  around. 

The  sun   has  ranished  from   the  west. 

.Ill  Imt   its   i/olden    rim; 
Xii/hf  comes,  with  sfars  upon  Jier  breast; 

Tin    world  ifrows  still  and  dim. 

I.   dreamin;/   still,   my   steps   retrace; 

Tears,  too,  hare  dimmed  mine  eyes — 
Which  star,  friend,  is  thy  dwelling  place 

In  yonder  splendid  skies? 

—Charles    W.    Hubner. 


29 


(Phofo.  The  Mines  Mead  Studio.) 

MRS.    ARTHUR    McDERMOTT    WILSON, 

President  of  the  Uncle  Remus  Memorial  Association,  the  woman 
who,  above  and  beyond  all  others,  has  assured  the  success  of 
the  memorial  movement,  inspiring  her  associates  at  all  times 
with  hope  and  perseverance,  and  by  her  personal  initiative 
raising  at  least  two-thirds  of  the  purchase  price  of  the  Wren's 
Nest. 


Ol)e  ^ianins  of  tl)c  Wren's 


Till-',  movement  for  a  memorial  to  Joel  Chandler  Harris  came 
as  naturally  as  a  flower  might  upspring  from  a  grave,  and 
while  yet  he  lay  at  rest  in  his  home,  with  the  birds  he  loved  singing 
unconscious  requiem  in  his  trees. 

With  the  announcement  on  July  1,  of  his  passing  away,  the 
press  voiced  public  feeling  in  calling  for  a  monument  to  him.  As  is 
usual  in  the  history  of  memorials,  there  was  divergence  of  opinion 
as  to  the  form  the  monument  should  take.  A  statue;  an  Uncle  Re- 
mus park;  a  drinking  fountain;  a  bronze  tablet;  and  the  purchase 
and  preservation  of  his  home,  were  among  suggestions  as  to  its  form. 

At  a  meeting,  called  by  the  mayor.  July  10,  in  the  City  Council 
Chamber,  the  Uncle  Remus  Memorial  Association  was  organized;  a 
committee,  appointed  to  decide  on  the  form  of  memorial  reported,  at 
a  memorial  meeting  in  the  (irand  Opera  House,  July  19,  in  favor 
of  the  home;  s.'jo.uoo.  it  was  estimated,  would  cover  purchase  and 
equipment.  A  statue  in  a  public  place,  the  more  conventional  type, 
might  have  been  chosen  but  for  Mr.  Harris's  own  protest  as  often 
expressed  to  wife  and  friends:  "Don't  erect  any  statue  of  marble 
or  bronze  to  me  to  stand  out  in  the  rain  and  cold  and  dust."  It  was 
remembered  how  he  had  loved  his  home;  how  characteristic  of  him  it 
was.  the  house  built  according  to  liis  own  ideas,  the  grounds  eloquent 
of  his  ramblings  and  his  tending.  The  committee's  decision  was 
generally  approved;  yet  there  lingered,  as  is  usual,  some  division 
of  opinion. 

The  gentlemen  of  the  committee,  who  were  burdened  with  per- 
sonal business  responsibilities,  presently  found  that  they  could  not 
give  the  movement  the  attention  it  required,  and  welcomed  the  for- 
mation of  the  Ladies'  Auxiliary  in  February,  1909;  in  October,  they 
decided  to  retire  as  an  organization,  the  ladies  succeeding  to  the  title 
and  office  of  the  Uncle  Remus  Memorial  Association,  and  themselves 
appearing  as  Advisory  Hoard.  Colonel  Frederic  J.  Faxon,  Chair- 
man of  this  Hoard,  has  been  unfailing  friend  and  counsellor  to  the 
ladies;  they  feel  that  the  successful  issue  of  the  movement  is  largely 
due  to  his  readiness  to  give  them  his  time,  his  advice,  and  his  aid. 

The  official  board  of  the  Association,  as  existing,  is  nearly  the 
same  as  of  the  Auxiliary  when  formed,  with  Mrs.  A.  McD.  Wilson 
for  President.  These  annals  are  too  brief  to  chronicle  individual 
endeavors,  but  the  Association  would  have  mention  made  that 
next,  in  value  of  service,  to  their  President  ranks  Mrs.  F,.  L.  Con- 


nally,  who  has  been  a  happy  link  in  the  work  through  hei  long 
and  close  friendship  with  Mrs.  Wilson  and  the  Harris  family. 
Her  historic  residence,  "The  Homestead"  is  in  West  End,  and  thus 
neighbor  to  the  Wren's  Nest.  The  daughter  of  Georgia's  War  Gov- 
ernor, Joe  Brown,  and  sister  of  Georgia's  recent  Governor  Joe 
Brown,  she  brought  the  influence  of  these  connections  to  the  aid  of 
the  memorial  interest.  It  is  desired,  too,  that  special  and  reverent 
tribute  be  paid  to  the  lovely  labors  of  Mrs.  Marshall  V.  Eckford 
and  Mrs.  T.  L.  Stokes,  two  associates  who  have  passed  away. 

Mrs.  H.  G.  Hastings  has  been  the  faithful  Recording  Secre- 
tary of  the  Association  for  its  four  years  of  existence;  Mrs. 
Thomas  T.  Stevens  for  nearly  that  period  its  efficient  Treasurer, 
and  always  its  loyal  and  resourceful  promoter ;  her  predecessor, 
Mrs.  W.  B.  Price-Smith,  served  in  several  capacities,  as  has  the 
present  Auditor,  Mrs.  Heifner.  The  first  large  sum  turned  into 
the  fund  by  an  associate  was  $4-00  realized  from  an  enterprise 
handled  by  Mrs.  Fred  Stewart — it  was  an  inspiration  at  the  mo- 
ment that  it  came ! 

The  ladies,  from  the  first,  limited  operations  to  what  they 
could  do  themselves,  without  one  paid  officer  on  their  board.  They 
made  no  active  canvass  for  funds.  Their  idea  was  that  as  many 
loved  Uncle  Remus,  many  might  have  a  share  in  his  memorial  with 
special  opportunity  for  small  aids  from  children.  Assistance  has 
been  welcomed  and  utilized  in  whatever  form  it  came.  A  gift  of 
Greek  coins  from  a  friend  in  Illinois ;  $5  from  a  woman's  club  with 
request  for  violet  roots  from  the  home;  tiny  sum  from  a  children's 
Sunshine  Society  in  Florida;  an  offering  from  the  Children  of  the 
Confederacy  in  Marietta ;  a  modest  check  from  Matthew  Page  An- 
drews, President  of  the  Randall  Literary  Memorial  Society;  an- 
other from  the  Southern  Club  of  Smith  College — first  Southern 
body  in  a  Northern  institution  to  remember  their  cause;  one  from 
Bessie  Tift  College  in  Forsyth  where  part  of  Mr.  Harris's  early 
struggles  were  made — these  helped  by  the  sympathy  and  interest 
thus  evinced  in  the  formative  period  of  their  undertaking. 

Cooperation  from  schools  and  colleges  has  been,  and  is,  highly 
valued.  Miss  Hanna's  school,  Atlanta,  was  first  to  render  aid. 
Next  came  schools  and  kindergartens  in  Ohio,  Illinois,  Carolina, 
Alabama,  and  in  Athens,  Albany,  and  Covington,  Ga.  Kentucky's 
children  rank  next  to  Georgia's  in  interest  shown.  Mrs.  Frank  L. 
Woodruff,  the  Association's  Field  Secretary  in  that  State,  has  sent 
several  contributions  from  "Uncle  Remus  Circles"  in  Louisville  and 
Lexington;  once  $100  given  in  pennies.  Among  Atlanta  institutions, 
the  Boys'  and  Girls'  High  Schools,  Marist  College,  "Tech"  Boys' 
High  School,  Miss  Woodberry's  School  and  Washington  Seminary 
have  lent  a  ready  hand. 

The    ladies    gave    several    entertainments    and    essayed    various 


tin-  !>«</.  .Inn.   /X.  /.'//./.     Left  to  Right     Mm.  Mi/rta  Lock- 
/-//  Ai-ani.  /•'../.  I'o.m,,.  Mm.  /•;.  C.  Connally,    Mr*.    W.    />'.    Price-Smith, 

Mm.  'I'.   '/'.  S/irciis.  .W/-N.    M'//.vf>//.  .Wr.v.  Ilitrri*.  ilii'Hin    lUnrk.  Lin-'n-n 


<lrouj>  on  Steps — 7>/V  /o  rit/lit,  Aileen  Harris.  LaRose  Wagener,  Mary 
iirinnlrhildrcii  of  I'ncle  Remus;  Mary  Brown  Spalding.  Second 
row,  Luclen  Harri*.  Mrs.  II arris.  Mm.  Wilson,  Mrs.  Connolly.  Third  row, 
Mrs.  Luclen  Harris.  Mrs.  Frifz  Wagener,  Col.  Paxon,  Mrs.  Stevens,  Mrs. 
A  vary.  Fourth  row.  Mr.  A.  McD.  Wilson.  Miss  Katharine  Wootten,  Mr. 
R.  T.  ('onnalli/,  Mrs.  R.  T.  Connally.  Mrs.  J.  J.  Martin,  Mr.  Eugene  Black. 


feminine  devices  in  the  interest  of  the  fund,  all  tending  to  so- 
cial pleasure  and  good  feeling.  They  felt  that  cheerfulness 
and  sweetness  of  spirit  must  pervade  all  they  did  for  a  memo- 
rial to  Uncle  Remus.  The  teas  in  the  Governor's  Mansion,  by 
courtesy  of  the  Governor's  wife,  Mrs.  Joseph  M.  Brown,  merit 
more  than  passing  note.  Much  more  than  passing  mention  must 
be  made  of  the  May  Festival  at  the  Wren's  Nest,  inaugurated 
by  Mrs.  Brevard  Montgomery,  which  has  passed  into  an  annual  cus- 
tom, having  been  observed  every  May  since  Mr.  Harris  died.  Its 
growing  beauty  and  popularity  is  a  reward  to  the  many  ladies 
whose  diligent  labors  go  to  making  it  the  pretty  pageant  it  is. 

The  May  Festival  at  the  Wren's  Nest  is  in  itself  an  appropriate 
memorial  to  the  former  master.  His  lawns  and  gardens  must  please 
Uncle  Remus  mightily  on  May  Day  if,  in  the  spirit,  his  eyes  look 

on  at  the  Maypole  Dance, 
and  the  Crowning  of  the 
May  Queen;  the  "Honey 
Bee'  Tree,"  "Thimblefin- 
ger  Well,"  "Miss  Meadows 
and  the  Gals,"  "Tar  Baby 
Booth,"  "Brer  Rabbit  and 
Brer  Fox,"  and  other 
materializations  from  his 
books,  with  flitting  forms 
and  merry  voices  of  child- 
hood making  all  the  place 
glad  and  gay.  Besides 
the  chief  reason — its  me- 
morial interest — for  con- 
Small  admission  fees  and 


(Courtesy  Book  News  Monthly.)  (Photo  by  \Vinn.) 

Mrs.   Wilson  Receiving   the  Keys 

from  Mrs.  Harris. 


tinuing  the   custom,   there   is   another. 

sales  of  simple  refreshments  and  souvenirs  supply  revenue  toward 

the  support  of  the  home. 

"Uncle  Remus  Day"  was  inaugurated  by  the  ladies  in  1910, 
when  through  their  efforts,  seconded  by  Prof.  W.  M.  Slaton,  Atlan- 
ta's Superintendent  of  Public  Schools,  the  schools  of  the  city  held 
an  Uncle  Remus  hour  of  song  and  story,  Dec.  9,  Mr.  Harris's  birth- 
day. Another  year  the  interest  was  enlisted  of  the  State  Commis- 
sioner of  Public  Schools,  Prof.  M.  L.  Brittain.  In  1912,  observance 
extended  throughout  Georgia  and  to  other  States;  to  colleges,  wo- 
men's and  children's  clubs,  and  public  libraries. 

The  most  important  help  the  work  ever  received  came  in  1910 
from  Theodore  Roosevelt.  Mrs.  Wilson,  basing  request  on  his 
known  friendship  for  Uncle  Remus,  asked  him  to  lecture  in  Atlanta 
for  the  memorial  fund.  His  acceptance  and  the  lecture  that  fol- 
lowed, Oct.  8,  turned  the  balance  of  fate  and  public  opinion  in  favor 
of  the  home's  preservation,  not  only  because  of  the  money  it  brought, 
nearly  $5.000,  but  by  this  seal  of  approval  from  "the  world's  fore- 
most citizen"  as  universally  acclaimed.  Andrew  Carnegie  dupli- 


34 


Jj uc ifn  Harris 
Presenting 

Coring  Cup 

to 

Mr*.  Wilson 
at   the 

Wren'*  Nest, 
January  18, 


rated  the  proceeds  of  tills  lecture.  The  largest  single  contribution 
lias  been  >.").()()()  from  the  Harris  family.  Recital  of  these  large 
gifts  by  no  means  minimi/es  smaller  ones.  The  penny  of  a  child  he 
loved  would  be  precious  to  Uncle  Remus.  The  smallest  aid  to  the 
movement  commands  the  respect  of  the  Association;  particularly 
when  it  comes  from  a  measure  which  is.  in  itself,  a  memorial,  as 
from  "I  ncle  Remus  Circles."  "I'ncle  Remus  Parties."  and  "Read- 
ings from  Uncle  Heinus." 

The  formal  transference  of  the  Wren's  Xcst  to  the  Association 
by  deed  occurred  January  IS.  11)13,  in  Uncle  Remus's  favorite 
room.  After  this  ceremony.  Lucien  Harris  presented  Mrs.  Wilson 
with  a  loving-cup  inscribed:  "To  Mrs.  A.  Mel).  Wilson  in  appre- 
ciation of  her  efforts  in  behalf  of  the  Uncle  Remus  Memorial — 
Essie  LaRose  Harris.  .Julian  Harris.  Lucien  Harris,  Evelyn  Harris, 
Mrs.  Frit/  Wageiier.  Mrs.  Kdwin  (amp,  Joel  Chandler  Harris/'  a 
testimonial  which  the  Association  was  happy  to  see  bestowed  upon 
its  leader  by  those  who  loved  Uncle  Remus  best.  They  realized 
with  pride  how  deserved  it  was;  and  that  their  President,  above 
and  beyond  all  others,  had  assured  the  success  of  their  cause,  in- 
spiring them  at  all  times  with  hope  and  perseverance,  and  by  her 
personal  initiative,  raising  at  least  two-thirds  of  the  purchase  price. 

"This  has  been  my  home  for  a  long  time,"  Mrs.  Harris  said  of 
the  transfer,  "and  I  hate  to  give  it  up,  but  I  feel  that  this  is  for  the 
best.  If  it  passed  into  private  hands,  it  might  suffer  change.  Now, 
I  know  that  our  home  will  be  kept  as  he  left  it  and  as  he  loved  it.  I 
know  that  you  will  cherish  every  tree,  flower,  and  shrub  that  he 
spoke  of  and  loved,  as  I  have  cherished  them.  You  will  let  the  wild 


things  feel  at  home  here  as  he  did  and  as  I  have  done.  It  would 
please  him,  if  he  could  know,  that  little  children  will  always  play 
about  the  place." 

His  bedroom  and  living  room  are  to  be  kept  as  he  left  them. 
His  widow  donates  the  furnishings,  among  which  are  his  fa- 
vorite chair,  writing-table,  inkstand,  pen,  and  many  relics  besides. 
Other  rooms  will  be  used  for  a  public  library,  a  branch  of  the  Car- 
negie, already  established ;  a  free  kindergarten,  it  is  hoped ;  and  sim- 
ilar public  utilities  as  they  may  be  developed,  all  in  keeping  with  the 
memorial  sentiment.  Mrs.  Harris  has  given  for  the  library  a  num- 
ber of  books  which  belonged  to  her  husband.  A  valuable  collec- 
tion of  author's  autographed  copies  and  of  autographed  photographs 
has  been  secured  for  it  by  Mrs.  Lollie  Bell  Wylie.  A  feature  of 
Mrs.  Wylie's  collection  is  the  bronze  medallion  portrait  of  Mr.  Har- 
ris by  the  sculptor,  Roger  Noble  Burnham,  a  contribution  from 
members  of  the  Boston  Folklore  Society  and  Authors'  Club.  "Brer 
Rabbit,"  drawn  by  A.  B.  Frost,  Mr.  Harris's  friend  and  illustrator, 
is  a  recent  gift  from  the  artist,  made  through  Miss  Katharine  Woot- 
ten.  New  evidences  of  interest  reach  us  daily,  and  we  hope  to 
presently  swell  the  pages  of  our  little  book  with  fresh  records  of 
the  many  beautiful  things  done  for  the  Harris  Memorial  by  those 
who  love  Uncle  Remus  the  wide  world  over.  Also,  we  hope  to  keep 
their  names  on  honor  roll  record  at  the  Wren's  Nest;  thus  will  his 
memorial  be  their  memorial  too. 

The  grounds  are  to  be  equipped  as  playgrounds  for  children 
and  as  a  resort  for  the  innocent  recreation  and  happiness  of  youth 
in  general.  The  Association  plans  to  add  "Snap-Bean  Farm"  to 
present  holdings,  both  because  they  regard  it  as  an  essential  part  of 
the  memorial  and  because  of  its  availability  for  playground  pur- 
poses. Its  purchase  will  require  $5,000.  Readers  of  this  booklet 
will  bear  this  fact,  we  trust,  in  sympathetic  remembrance.  As  yet 
there  is  no  fund  to  sustain  the  memorial.  Every  purchase  of  this 
booklet  will  be  a  contribution  to  it.  So  will  purchase  of  our  post- 
cards and  other  souvenirs.  We  will  welcome  cooperation  of  any 
kind  from  all  who  loved  Uncle  Remus  and  who  would  like  to  share, 
in  even  the  most  modest  degree,  in  our  work.  The  preservation  of  a 
great  man's  home,  where  he  made  wife  and  children  happy  for  nearly 
thirty  years,  is  an  object  lesson  in  the  moralities  and  of  very  whole- 
some significance  in  many  ways.  It  is  a  monument  not  to  genius 
only  but  to  the  domestic  virtues,  a  guarantee  of  the  world's  respect 
for  faithful  married  love  and  the  hearthstones  of  the  world. 


l£ncle 


Mlemorial  Association 


Z3be  Wren's  ^tcst,  214  (Gordon  Street,  Atlanta,  (Ba. 

President    ...........................................  Mrs.    Arthur    AlcDermott    Wilson 

First   Vice-  President    ............................................  Airs.    E.   L.   Connally 

Second    Vice-1  'resident    ........................................  Airs.    Hubert  J.   Lowry 

Uecording  Secretary    ...........................................  Mrs.    H.   G.    Hastings 

Treasurer    ..................................................  Al'rs.    Thomas  T.    Stevens 

Auditor    ..........................................................  Mrs.   F.    P.    Heifner 

Corresponding  Secretary    .........................................  All's.    Fred   Stewart 


HONORARY    VICE-PRESIDENTS 


('resident    \\" lro\v    Wilson 


Kx- President   Theodore   Uoosevelt 


Andrew  Carn«-gie 
Henry  \\'atterson 
H.  II.  Kohlsaat 


Ex-President   William  n.  'Pan 

Clark  Howell  Hoke    Smith 

W.   R.   Hearst  A.   O.    Bacon 

James  R.   Gray  Walter   H.    Page. 

PUBLICITY    COMMITTEE 


Associate  Chairmen. 

Alyrta    Lockrtt    A  vary  Lollie    Hell    Wylie 


Dorothy    I  >i\ 

Lihbie     Alol'l'ow 

Mrs.    William   King 
Mrs.    Paul    K.    Wilkes 


.leallllel  le     (  lildi-r 


Airs,     lioger     X.     P.iiruhaiu 

Kst.-iif  Qarrett  liak.-r 
Airs.   Henry  N.    IJullingt.m 
Airs.    S.    H.    Adams 

Ivy   L.    Lee 


Is  ma    Dooly 

Airs.    Aliltou    It.    Anderson 

Lix/.ie    <  ».    Thomas 

Airs.    Frank    L.    Woodruff 

Honorary   Members. 
Corra    Harris 

SOUVENIR   COMMITTEE 
Susan    AI<-( 'lellan.   Chairman 
l,ouise    I  >ooly 
Isabel     Thomas 
Airs.    P.revanl    Aloii  I  tannery 

Honorary      Members 
A.     P.    Frost 


Mabel    Drake 
Airs.   Thaddeus    I-:,    llortoii 
<>rline    Arnold    Shipman 
Mrs.     Lyman     .1.     Amsdeii 

Xorma    P.ri^ht    Carson 


Kram-es    P.en.j.    Johnston 
Josephine    Karnest  Purse 
Mary    Carter    Winter 
.\li-s.    11.    II.    Kuclge 

Koi;«-r    \ohli-    P.ui'iiham 


LIBRARY   COMMITTEE 

Airs.    Howard    L.    Crumley.    Chairman  Aliss     Katharine    \\'ootten,     Vice-Chairman 

GROUNDS   COMMITTEE 
Mrs.    P.    T.    Connally.    Chairman  Airs.    .1.    A!.    AlarUley.    Jr.,    \'i<  c-Cha  ii  ma  n 

HOUSE    COMMITTEE. 
Airs.     A.     U.    Cnleord.    Cliairman  Airs.  John    K.    Pui'ser,    \'icc-Cha  ii-ma  n 


Airs.    John    Ii.    Bowden.    liesid.-nt    Hostess 


Mrs. 
Airs. 
.Mrs. 
Airs. 
Airs. 
Mrs. 
Airs. 
Airs. 
Ali-s. 


ADVISORY    COMMITTEE— Lad 

John    Alarshall    Slaton,   Chaii'inan  All's.    Charles 


Jos.     Al.     P.rown 
I'M wa i'il    T.    P.rown 
Warren    A.    Candler 

w.   A.   Crowe 

W.    A.    Foster. 
Jno.    w.  c.rant 

\\'.    I  ».    C.rant 
J.    C.   Greenfield 


Airs.  Sam    I).    Jones 

Airs.  Victor    KrieKshaber 

Airs.  Jno.    K.    Alur]»liy 

Airs.  St.    I*]lm<>   MasseiiK;il< 

Airs.  J.    XT.    Md'Iaelicin 

Airs.  Augustus    Aldtan 

Aliss  Jessie    Muse 

Airs.  l<"rederic    .1.     Paxon 


es 

J.    Haden,    Vice-Chairman 

Airs.  W.     P.     Pat  till,, 

.Mrs.  Arthur    Powell 

.Mi's  Luther  Z.   Rosser 
Airs.     Hugh     Kidiardson 

All's.  Andrew   Stewart 

Airs.  Hoke   Smith 

Airs.  George    Winship 

Airs.  W.    Woods   White 


ADVISORY    COMMITTEE— Gentlemen 

l-'rcdcric  .1.    Paxon.    Cliairman  John    Al.    Slaton,    Vice-Chairman 


Al.     L.     Prittain 
Asa    (}.   Candler 
Daniel    Carey 
John  J.  Eagan 
Jolm    Temple  Graves 
Frank   Hawkins 
I'M  win    F.    Johnson 
Henry  S.   Johnson 
Victor    Kriegshaber 


Robt.    J.    Lowry 
R.  F.   Maddox 
St.    Elmo   Massengale 
Wilmer  L.  Moore 
Brooks  Morgan 
Jno.    E.    Murphy 
George  Muse 
W.  W.   Orr 


Dunbar  H.   Ogden 
William  L.   Peel 
Geo.   S.   Rapier 
H.   E.   Stockbridge 
W.  M.  Slaton 
A.   P.   Stewart 
A.    McD    Wilson 
John    E   White 
C.   B.   Wilmer 


37 


This  memorial  booklet  is  a  labor  of  love  throughout.  All  who 
have  taken  part  in  its  making  knew  and  loved  Uncle  Remus.  The 
author  has  been  inspired  by  her  reverence  for  his  character  as  a  man 
and  a  genius;  by  the  charm  which  the  home-life  at  tin-  Wren's  Nest 
had  for  her  while  the  master  was  living;  and  by  sympathy  with  the 
movement  led  by  her  dear  friend,  Mrs.  Wilson,  for  the  preservation 
of  the  Wren's  Nest  as  Mr.  Harris's  monument.  Similar  sentiment 
inspired  her  young  colleague,  Susan  McClellan. 

It  is  the  most  comprehensive  biography  of  Mr.  Harris  yet  pub- 
lished., brief  though  it  is.  It  has  been  read  and  approved  by  his 
widow;  and  much  of  its  data  was  secured  direct  from  her.  The 
collection  of  Harris  portraits  is  the  most  complete  in  existence. 

A  long  list  might  be  made  of  courtesies  extended  to  it  in  the  mak- 
ing., showing  how  composite  a  work  of  good  will  and  loving  memory 
of  Uncle  Remus  it  is.  Miss  Wootten  and  Major  Hubner,  who  con- 
tribute to  it,  were  Mr.  Harris's  personal  friends  and  warmly  at- 
tached to  him.  The  Ladies'  Home  Journal,  Book  News  Monthly., 
the  World's  Work,  the  Outlook.,  and  the  Christian  Herald,  in  lend- 
ing assistance,  expressed  the  interest  of  friendship  in  anything  con- 
nected with  Uncle  Remus  and  his  Memorial.  Special  obligations 
are  felt  to  these  publications,  to  Ivy  Lee's  beautiful  "Memories  of 
Uncle  Remus,"  and  to  Mr.  Harris's  home  papers,  the  Atlanta  Jour- 
nal, the  Atlanta  Georgian,  and  the  Atlanta  Constitution;  and  to  Mr. 
C.  H.  Pritchard,  formerly  of  Uncle  Remus's  Magazine. 

Surely  this  little  ship  cannot  fail  of  its  mission — when  its  sails 
are  winged  with  so  many  kindnesses  and  it  carries  the  story  of  a 
beautiful  lif e ! 


Visitors  are  Welcome  to  tl>e  Wren's  5test 

Visitors  from  almost  every  part  of  the  world  have  called  since 
the  Wrren's  Nest  was  opened  to  the  public  only  a  few  months  ago. 
Tourists  passing  through  Atlanta  usually  pay  their  respects  to  the 
place.  Children  like  to  come.  Sometimes,  aged  pilgrims  journey 
from  a  distance  to  bring  their  little  grandchildren  to  see  Uncle 
Remus's  House.  As  our  opportunities  permit,  we  hope  to  make 
Uncle  Remus's  House  more  and  more  a  place  of  rest  and  recreation 
to  the  "children  of  all  ages,"  as  Uncle  Remus  described  the  "young 
in  heart." 


"' 


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STAMPED  BELOW 


OCT  16  1915 

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FES  1C 

NO 


ID 

NOV  24  1959 


,  D 

DEC  1  4 


si  W1WR  02  1996 

HON  DEPT. 


JUL  201937 


Jan  19  'SOP' 


30m-l,'15 


<  iay  lord  Bros. 

Makers 

•"\vruruse,  X.  V 
PAT.  JJW.  2).  J908 


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